


Green Eyes

by monaboyd_archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Angst, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-01
Updated: 2004-02-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 10:56:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7637389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monaboyd_archivist/pseuds/monaboyd_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dom likes Elijah. Billy doesn't like that he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Green Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This extract is part of a much longer and crappier story sitting on my hard drive. If I get enough good feedback, I’ll have a go at revamping the rest.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Note from Shirasade: this story was originally archived at the Monaboyd.net Archive, which was closed in September 2014 due to software issues and a lack of new submissions for several years . To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2014. I e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on the Monaboyd.net Archive collection profile.

It wasn’t jealousy. At least, not really. And not at first.

At first, Billy Boyd was frankly just fed up. He’d never considered it a detriment being let in on a secret, but Dominic and Co. had redefined most of the rest of his life; so why not that, as well? Ah, Dom. So callous in his naivety. If only the bastard knew how much a source of torment and frustration he was for Billy...

Enough about that, came the Voice of Reason to the rescue. Billy was calm and composed by nature, so anything of the opposite left him at a bit of a loss. Especially at times when Dom burst into their trailer grinning and panting after a new prank, or when Dom chewed his lip in concentration, or when Dom – feigning seriousness – glanced askance at him and winked. The remarkably clear common thread of ‘when Dom’s in this whole affair had only registered to Billy quite recently. What a bloody fantastic bout of delayed reaction. Must be a record or something. Billy wasn’t to thrilled that this all originated from Dom.

But it did. In his various and subtle – cowardly, interjected a less helpful part of his mind – ways, he’d tried to divine if Dom felt any of the same. Which had first meant defining what he himself felt – a painful, difficult process. It was lust, definitely. And fondness, he was quite sure. Friendship. Something more than friendship?

Something more.

After about six days of agonising, Billy had unearthed the courage to have a word with Dom. A discreet word, of course, as were all his dealings. He found out that Dom did feel the same. Just not for him. For bug-eyed Elijah.

At first it had been funny (cynical, masochistic funny), noticing the slight undercurrents between those two kids that had never seemed more than boisterous play. Billy found it as fascinating as a train wreck. And about as appetising.

Initially, in the first onrush of curiosity, he had prompted Dom to tell him everything. But apparently Dominic’s general intensity also extended to the realm of baring his soul. ‘Everything’ was only a very slight exaggeration. And that wasn’t funny to Billy. More nauseating. Or perhaps exasperating. Yes. Because Dom did it at every available opportunity – this secret sharing – in an apparent quest to make Billy’s life – if not miserable, then highly uncomfortable.

Dom was head over heels in infatuation with fellow hobbit Elijah. He knew the exact time that said person woke up in the morning (four thirteen, Billy recited from too-often reinforced memory). He knew how many freckles Elijah had on his left temple (five, in a sort of Big Bear formation). He knew that Elijah wore white boxers on Mondays, and red ones of Wednesdays. How he knew these things, Billy didn’t ask. Billy didn’t want to know. Oh, no.

The worst time was Feet at the crack of dawn. Aside from the obvious, patience testing hours-long standing sessions, it was when Dom released the bulk of his artillery, and always in such a way as to pretend much subtlety and achieve none.

Out of boredom rather than any sense of interest, Billy had memorized the exact kinds of coffee that everyone took in the morning. Studying this proved his theory that you are what you’re addicted to, a very philosophical topic indeed that would one day become a thesis when he felt like writing it. His own was a strong Moroccan blend with at least five spoonfuls of honey. There was nothing worse – with the possible exception of Treebeard rash – than bitter coffee. Which reflected that he was intense and naturally sweet. Ooh yes.

Sean drank something that was five percent coffee and ninety-five percent milk. And funniest of all was that he got outrageously buzzed on it, to such an extent that he couldn’t nap till after lunch. At least, Billy had reasoned, he had progressed up from three percent (first week of shooting), which proved that he was to some extent human. And either had a shite constitution or was just perky by nature.

Elijah drank American mud. There was no other fitting expression, except maybe ‘shit’, but that wasn’t for polite company. It was a vile black substance that seemed to resist pouring. Billy was surprised that he didn’t drink it with a knife and fork. Elijah. Mud. Grime. Vile. That, at least, fit into his personal – if somewhat biased – analysis.

And Dom drank plain coffee with a spoon of sugar and a splash of milk. It was, perhaps, the simplest thing about him. Hiding all those wonderful little complexities: sharks in a koi pond was a fitting analogy.

Whenever Dom tried to corner him with his daily Elijah gossip, Billy tried with equally intensity to get out of, or ignore, it. He’d tried feigning disinterest (a useless ploy with Dom, because how could Elijah’s chest hair not be interesting?), sleepiness (which worked for a while before it became too frequent and Dom saw through it) and irritation (which was just shrugged off, if even noticed). Narcolepsy was out of the question. So, Billy took to hiding behind newspapers or books, which dammed the flood that was Dominic, but also had the downside that it prevented anyone else talking to him. Bad with the good, he sighed.

But he also had the opportunity to sharpen his hearing and observational skills. Billy was an eternal optimist and could find an upside to every situation if it was the last bloody thing he did. Which irritated Dom. Which was another benefit.

So in the course of weeks he became quite proficient in reading silent signals and finishing sentences that were left hanging, an interesting insight into his friends’ personalities.

But sometimes the literature barrier wasn’t entirely effective. One day, Dom sidled his chair up to him as closely as he could. “Isn’t that the third time you’re reading that book?”

Fuck, though Billy. He looked at the title. Great Gatsby. He wanted to laugh and tell Dom that he hadn’t even read it once, but realized that might not be the best course of action. “It’s very good,” he responded weakly. “Real insight into the fifties.”

“I though it was the thirties.”

Fuck, Billy thought again. “Thirties! Thirties. That’s what Ah meant. Slip of the tongue.”

Dom gave him a Look, but didn’t comment. “What’s wrong, Bills?” he asked instead, which was nothing short of a surprise. “You’re being awfully quiet.”

“Reading,” Billy muttered. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Good. You’re not lying to me, are you, you Scottish bastard?”

“No, you son of a bitch Manchurian.”

Dom looked satisfied enough with that comeback, and leaned in. “Did you see yesterday’s dailies?”

“Ah was sitting right next to you, you lummock.” Billy wanted to smack him; an irrational reaction. Elijah was the one who deserved to be smacked.

Dom pretended not to hear this. “I must say, I was partial to the ‘waking up in Gondor’ scene.”

Yes, Billy’s mind scoffed. Because you got to watch yourself jump all over Elijah without strangers giving you dark looks. But all he said was, “Hmm.”

“Elijah looks bloody delicious when he’s doing the ‘happy and relieved’ thing.”

“Ah’m sure he does.” Billy wondered if anyone could miss the ‘leave me alone I don’t care’ tone in his voice. Dom could, apparently.

“Yeah. You just look at it all wrong, Bills. I mean, you look at his eyes and see eyes.”

This was a typical Dom cryptic comment. “Whereas…” he prompted.

“I see the riddles of the universe.” He sighed with enthusiastic melodrama. “God, Bills, his eyes are just so fucking gorgeous!”

Restraining a groan took most of Billy’s mental capacity. Then he saw a very neat opportunity to make Dom highly uncomfortable and return the favour. It meant fraternising with the enemy, but all’s fair in love and war.

“Lighe,” he called across the trailer, “Let me see yer eyes.” Elijah turned and gave him a look of surprised worry. Billy laughed. “Nae, Ah’m not trying to see the riddles of the universe in them or anything!” He felt Dom flinch. Boyd, one. Dominic zero. “Ah just wanted to see the colour; Dom ‘ere says they aren’t as blue as they look on screen, and Ah disagree.”

Elijah mumbled a concerned okay and tried to look at Billy without feeling too stupid. Billy gave him a cursory glance and nodded. “Ah don’t see it, Dom.” He smiled innocuously to Elijah and let him return to his breakfast. Then he smirked at Dominic.

“I hate you,” Dom said.

“Good, then we’re agreed.”

There was a profound, stretchy silence that Billy enjoyed immensely. But it was not to be. “You just don’t see it. I’ll put it down to your Scottish insensitivities.” He leaned in, conspirator all the way. “Cheekbones,” he said with a sort of half-sigh, as though this were the answer to the mysteries of the universe (currently located in Elijah’s eyes).

Billy tried to come up with something witty. But it was impossible; Dom sounded like enough of a fool on his own, thank you very much.

“Fucking good cheekbones. Not as sharp as, say, Orli’s.”

Billy had never heard cheekbones described as ‘sharp’ before. He let slide, “Sean seems to appreciate them, too.”

“What?” Dom’s tone lost its carefree sap and solidified into suspicion.

Billy sighed and smacked himself mentally upside the head. This was when it got unbearable, when Dom started feeling possessive, or worse, jealous. It wasn’t that Billy didn’t sympathize. He knew exactly where Dom was coming from. So he should have known better to voice his observations to the squealing teenage girl that was masquerading his best friend. He’d bite his tongue next time he planned to make a comment like that.

But there was no getting out of this explanation because of the intense, twitchy Dom energy that had just fully focused on him. Eagle staring at a rabbit, he compared. “Don’t be stupid, Dom. Y’ know Sean appoints himself Elijah’s guardian.”

“Yeah, yeah, but what did you mean by ‘appreciates’?”

Apparently trying the roundabout way with Dom was comparable to beating your head against a cliff. “Ah didn’t mean anything. He just gets antsy when Elijah had dirt all over his face, and his cheeks are usually the worst.”

“So, nothing else?”

“No.”

Dom sighed with intense relief. Billy sighed too, amazed that that flimsy explanation had been accepted. “Thighs,” Dom said. “Bloody good thighs.”

Billy wished he could just shoot Dom, or himself. Or both.


End file.
